Putting this in the front or the end (where it might be misunderstood as an actual disclaimer) would’ve made no sense, since it’s mostly a warning. That’s why it’s in the middle somewhere; where it’s least likely to be read. Lucky you.

The stuff I write in here is not a journal, per se, though sometime it takes on a similar form. Some of it is completely made up, and some of it is not. Some characteristics of the person telling the story are me and some are not.

I feel it necessary to say this before people who may read this think that these are all my thoughts or actions; that I spend too much time in strange hotels drinking variations of wine, bourbon, martinis and beer, often too much, and often far too alone for the comfort of society. That I dream too much, try too hard and that were I to fail I would fall so hard that my mind would snap and I’d end up a hermit in the south pacific, looking for coconuts with which to break crabs.

It’s not a pretty thought.

The truth is I’m getting some strange mail about these entries and this is my warning if you want to invest the time to peruse this place, lest you think I’m either in need of some serious counseling or else a sharp attorney very soon.

Pedro Ávila

For a reasonably sane & productive member of society (arguable, but let’s not complicate things), I’m far too mobile and unrooted. I travel quite a bit for a job that is simultaneously my greatest privilege and my worst burden.

So I write. And I write. Travel pieces, political journalism (a stretch from ranting but, still), short stories, poetry and other such riff-raff. I contribute to a handful of publications and will probably just keep going until something gives out, or someone gives in.